


speech writing, goat-herding and other noble pursuits

by redkay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redkay/pseuds/redkay
Summary: Not for the first time since acquiring Merlin as his manservant, Arthur finds himself unsure where to focus the bulk of his fury.





	speech writing, goat-herding and other noble pursuits

“Um,” Merlin says, his eyes still fixed on the parchment with a slightly bemused expression, and really, Arthur knows his servant is just a simple country boy, but no one even somewhat affiliated with the alphabet is that slow of a reader.

“Aren’t you almost finished? I do have to deliver this speech sometime this decade.”

“Hm,” Merlin murmurs noncommittally, his fingers ghosting over the words as though trying to decipher some hidden meaning. “Still on the first sentence.”

“The first—you’ve been studying that thing for ages, you have to be at least half way done by now!”

“I am. That’s sort of the problem. Do all royals have some sort of deep-seated aversion to punctuation I’m not aware of, or is this more of a personal problem?” 

Arthur gapes in what he’s sure is a regal and princely manner. “Now, see here—“

“No, see _here_ ,” Merlin cuts him off, fisting his hand in Arthur’s tunic and yanking him down to read over his shoulder. “You have some sort of twisted, quadruple negative right there.”

“It’s called dramatic effect, Merlin, which you would know if you had any sort of—“

“It’s called incomprehensible. Are you just hoping to confuse the citizens so much they don’t realize that there are no more than about seven relevant words in this entire speech?”

“Would you stop interrupting me!” Arthur exclaims, forcibly removing himself from Merlin’s grip and stalking over to the other side of his chambers to glower out the window. There’s a suspicious silence from where Merlin’s commandeered his chair and Arthur allows himself a few blissful moments of entertaining the notion that his servant has actually deigned to follow an order before he hears a sharp scratching noise.

Merlin has found a quill.

“What are you _doing?_ ” he demands.

“Fixing it,” Merlin replies with a guileless grin, the quill still merrily scratching away. 

“Fixing—there’s nothing wrong with it, stop that! How am I supposed to read any of that with your scribbles over it?”

“That’s the idea. We’re getting rid of that whole middle section.”

“That whole middle section? _We?_ ” Not for the first time since acquiring Merlin as his manservant, Arthur finds himself unsure where to focus the bulk of his fury.

“Well you did ask for my help, Arthur,” Merlin says in a tone that can only be described as deeply condescending. Or treasonous. That would also be an apt description.

In fact, he’s so preoccupied with his outrage over Merlin’s insolence that it takes him a moment to process his words. 

“I most certainly did not!” Unless, _do try not to spill the wine all over this speech I’ve just completed_ somehow translates to _please, yes, get your grubby peasant hands all over my hard work and start critiquing it like you have any idea what you’re talking about, and no, that’s fine, I didn’t want supper anyway, go ahead and eat all of that_ in idiot speak, that is. And he’s fairly sure it doesn’t, because Arthur’s become rather fluent in idiot speak these past few years.

_(an interlude of sorts:_

_for instance, “Arthur, Lancelot and I are going to take out the warning bell so as to give you a chance to win back your kingdom and save your father without being brutally murdered by an undead army,” roughly translates to “Arthur, Lancelot and I are going to frolic around the castle for a while, somehow end up in the vaults which will inexplicably collapse around us at virtually the precise moment that the previously mentioned immortal army will conveniently explode for no reason whatsoever, claim that Morgause has perished in the wreckage despite the distinct lack of a body and then when even gently questioned as to the veracity of this particular sequence of events, look shiftily at each other and run off to muck out the stables. At no point in the following week will the stables be mucked or any of my chores be completed. Now please excuse me as I sneak back to Gaius’ chambers with the world’s largest sword hidden behind my inexcusably scrawny frame. Ta.”_

_Or: “I knocked you out with a chunk of wood to stop you from eloping with that pretty girl with the creepy father and weird glowing stick” very clearly means “I was obviously forced to use every coin I’ve earned from providing you with previously unseen levels of substandard service to bribe an army of mercenaries to sneak up behind you and, despite your very valiant efforts and clearly superior swordsmanship, you were forced to sacrifice yourself to protect the innocent women and children. And also orphans.”_

_Or: “Arthur, you’ve managed to single-handedly mortally wound the Great Dragon, the same one you’ve rather notably been completely incapable of giving so much as the equivalent of a paper cut in the past week of hurling fiery cannonballs at it. Go enjoy a feast in your honour while I stare at the skies shiftily as though expecting something rather large to come swooping back at any moment. And please ignore my oddly hoarse voice, I was probably just screaming like the girl you always say I am. Sire.”_

_Actually that one is pretty much self-explanatory.)_

So yes, it’s safe to say that Arthur has a great deal of experience deciphering the language of fools. He’s also developed an unrivaled skill in not questioning his good fortune.

“Sure you did. Maybe not with words, but I can tell.” Merlin smiles sunnily at him without bothering to glance up from his desecration of royal property, then draws what appears to be a giant sad face through the bottom third of his speech. Arthur feels vaguely ill.

“Stop that this instant. If you have any respect for my—“ No, wrong tactic. “If you have any desire to remain on as my manser—“ No, Merlin will just ask if that’s meant to be a threat or a promise. Again. “If you don’t want to be exiled from—“ Probably not actually feasible to banish someone for the crime of editing a speech, however liberally they seem to be going about it. 

Merlin, for his part, has finally deigned to give him his full attention, watching him with a politely curious expression and chewing the end of the quill (royal quill, gifted to him by the Prince of Northumbria, very likely a banishable offense; stocks at the very least—stocks!)

“Stocks. Every day for a month. Now hand it over.”

“As you wish, your highness.” Merlin stands, swiping Arthur’s apple from his plate ( _for the children to throw,_ he assures gravely) and walks out of his chambers, having completely failed to do any of the tasks Arthur had ordered him to when he first entered.

It is, distressingly, a fairly normal day.

**

Except.

When Arthur was just shy of his tenth birthday, he was bucked off his horse while accompanying his father and a handful of knights on a hunting trip. His eyes welled up with tears from where he sat on his rump, but before they could leak over his father pulled him to his feet and held his arm in a firm grip. “Your men will never respect you if you show them weakness,” he’d said softly, straightening Arthur’s tunic. “Now get back on your mount.”

At the time, Arthur had scoffed with all the bravado of a nine year old Prince. He didn’t have weaknesses, after all. It wasn’t until much later, when he was soaking in a bath back in his chambers, that his father’s words started to echo in his head. Had he shown weakness that morning? Had he lost the knights’ respect before he even had the opportunity to earn it? 

For weeks afterwards he’d been downright obsessed with the gentle admonishment, examining all his actions for even a hint of the weakness his father had seen when he’d been thrown. Even now, when they patrol through raided villages he can hear the king’s words in his ears, warning him against showing his feelings when anyone can see and judge.

Arthur thinks it’s wholly unfair for anyone to have that sort of control over Arthur’s thoughts, but it’s one thing when it’s his father and the king of Camelot.

That his idiotic manservant can have that same command over his mind is just wrong, no matter how one looks at it.

And yet.

“Are you agreed, Your Highness?” Sir Leon looks at him expectantly.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Arthur hopes he hasn’t committed himself to anything too grievous, like the execution of a child or another one of those garland competitions Merlin keeps signing him up to judge in order to ‘get him in touch with the people’ or some such nonsense. 

In the early days of Uther’s illness, the responsibility of the crown had weighed heavily on Arthur’s shoulders, and he’d been convinced that every decision he made would be the difference between Camelot’s eternal prosperity and utter ruin. After the third hour of debating the merits of the tax on grain, Merlin cheerfully pointed out that so long as Arthur avoided wedding and bedding any trolls, it was unlikely that he would ever eclipse his father in history’s record of questionable decision making.

Merlin had spent the day in the stocks for ‘vaguely treasonous comments,’ but Arthur had found his load considerably lightened ever since.

Merlin. It all came back to him in the end, didn’t it?

“Say, Leon, you haven’t seen my servant around, have you?” He tries to affect an air on nonchalance. Leon’s expression implies he has not succeeded.

“I believe he’s still in the stocks.” Ah. Yes. That was why he had given up on stocks as a punishment for Merlin in recent months. It made his already spotty attendance record that much more dreadful. And really, the Prince of Camelot should not spend more time wandering the castle searching for his servant than he did defending his realm. It was just unseemly.

Plus, Merlin had a tendency to return to Arthur’s chambers sullen and quiet in a way he never was back when it was Uther ordering the sentence. And Merlin without a goofy smile was just disconcerting.

He waves an absent hand in Leon’s direction. “Perhaps someone should let him out then, before the children run out of fruit and start another riot in the marketplace.” Arthur was still fairly sure Merlin himself was responsible for that incident, which had taken six knights and a dozen guards to get under control, despite the boy’s repeated protests that of course I wouldn’t, why would I want them to find more things to throw at me?

“As you wish, your highness.”

“And send him up here when he gets out,” he adds imperiously. Leon just smiles at him as he closes the door.

Arthur returns to studying his speech, which really did not deserve the treatment that Merlin gave it. Admittedly, the middle section might be seen as slightly superfluous, and no, Arthur can’t quite recall why he added in that bit about the goat herder, but it wasn’t bad. It just needed polishing.

“That was a short month,” Merlin says cheerfully as he enters. Arthur spares him a glance; it is tomato day, apparently.

“Yes, well. I’m pretty sure if you become any less productive my chores will start undoing themselves.”

“Well hop to it then. The Knights are waiting for you in the Great Hall, along with Gwen.”

Arthur peers at him, searching for a possible tomato-inflicted head injury. “And what precisely are they doing there?”

Merlin shoots him a look one might give a particularly dumb sparrow; Arthur’s well acquainted with it, having perfected it approximately one week after Merlin's instatement as his manservant. “You’re going to practice your speech, obviously. That is why you released me from the stocks twenty nine days early, isn’t it?”

It is, but Arthur prefers it when they pretend that Merlin doesn’t know these things, so he glares at him sternly. 

“Even if that were true,” he valiantly ignores Merlin’s snort, “I didn’t tell you to assemble the knights.”

“No, but every time I attempt to give you constructive criticism you’re going to insult my heritage, imply peasants know nothing about the noble art of speech-writing, and throw me into the stocks. Having other witnesses seemed more efficient.”

The thing is, everyone thinks Merlin is some sort of innocent fey princess and Arthur is his cruel and abusive master. No one ever seems to realize that underneath those idiotic grins lies an evil mastermind who devotes his every moment to making Arthur’s life hell.

Well. Sometimes he thinks he has an ally with Gaius, at least. But every time he’s tried to broach the subject with the physician, hoping for a little sympathy, Gaius just raises his eyebrow and mumbles something about having to live with him.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin replies, and pulls him out of the room by his sleeve. “I thought we’d start with the goat-herder part, I think you really had something there.”


End file.
